


Rebound

by Writing Cat and Dog (CrowleyGirl)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: After Reichenbach, F/M, Implied Smut, M/M, Mainly John/Sebastian, Sadness, extended one night stand, no really, two sided rebound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-08 06:04:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8833246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowleyGirl/pseuds/Writing%20Cat%20and%20Dog
Summary: John and Sebastian meet at a bar shortly after the fall and they take comfort in each other.Please review!





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written by both of us. Please enjoy! If this is taken well, we have a sequal in mind!

The bar Sebastian was at had been set in an alley between buildings, roofed over at some point. It was dimly lit with fancy wooden furniture and green leather bar stools. The full bar and good selection of whiskey was what had drawn him to this place. He could stand the obnoxious jukebox music for some Irish whiskey. The kind Jim drank... had drank.  
Already heavily intoxicated, Sebastian slid his glass to the front of the oak bar, "Another double, thanks."  
The bald barman shook his head, "Nah, I'm cutting you off, Scarface. You've had one too many already."  
Sebastian looked up at him, stunned. It wasn't the name that offended him. Quite the opposite, he had earned the jagged marks that ran across his face. But after the day he'd had, he deserved another drink. Seeing Jim's body in the morgue... well, if he could remember it, he needed more alcohol.  
"You too." The barman pointed his finger at the man seated next to the sniper. Sebastian heard a low growl from the man and a mumbled, "Screw you."  
He turned to look at the ornery man who had been sitting beside him the whole time. Sebastian's vision was swimming from all the alcohol he had consumed, but a few shakes of the head and he could see clearer. Salty hair, sleep-deprived eyes, and a split lip from a previous bar fight met his gaze. The man looked familiar, but the whiskey had slowed the sniper's brain and he couldn't fully recall where he had seen him. Then he remembered that just yesterday he had had him in his sights, ready to fire.  
John Watson, the one and only friend to the late Sherlock Holmes.  
John looked about as drunk as Sebastian felt, his red eyes blown wide like he was struggling to see the world. The doctor swiveled his chair to Sebastian and slurred out, "Terrible service, am I right?" He put his elbow up on the table, knocking his glass off and shattering it against the floor. The barman frowned and shuffled over to clean up the broken pieces.  
[Sebastian was still staring in shock, "John Watson?"  
John frowned, "Do I know you?" The doctor was still sharp, even through his drunken haze.  
Sebastian recovered his senses and quickly lied, "Nah, you're on the news a lot. Wanna go somewhere else? Like to hear about your adventures, first drink's on me."] The thought of sharing a drink with someone who had lost just as much as him was comforting.  
John looked him up and down before a slow smile, not necessarily a happy one, crossed his face, "Sure."

It was eleven o'clock by the time they were so blasted no bar would serve them. They were sitting in a hole-in-the-wall type of Fish 'n Chips place drinking coffee to sober up enough to think properly. The booth they were in was hard, painted red and brown to match the color scheme of the rest of the place. The whole place stunk of fish. They drank in silence until John started up a conversation.  
"So, what's got you drinking tonight? Somthin' happen?"  
Sebastian's good mood disappeared. What could he say? My murderous lover shot himself in the head?  
"I... I lost someone yesterday."  
John looked surprised, "Really? Me too. Huh, what a coincidence."  
Sebastian nodded, chuckling cynically, "Yeah, what a coincidence." He was starting to feel uncomfortable, after all, his lover had killed this man's friend.  
"We lived together, you know. Can't really go back, 's too quiet." John's staring down at his mug, stirring the coffee repetitively with a plastic spoon, not paying attention to Sebastian.  
"Doesn't have to be." The sniper couldn't tell if his own words were a proposition or just advice, but he's hoping it's the former. Now that he's thinking about it, he could use a good shag right about now and he was too drunk too care who it was with.  
John leaned across the table, his face inches from Seb's, "You trying to get me to take you home?"  
Sebastian smirked, the alcohol running through him throwing all scruples out the window, "Maybe."  
John surprised him by surging forward and placing a short kiss on the battle-scarred sniper's lips, "My place, then."

SHSHSHSHSH

Later in John's bed, Sebastian thought about how wrong this was. Shagging his enemy, this is what Jim had driven him to. He knew that tomorrow the pain of his lover's death would come back, but for tonight distraction was enough. 

SHSHSHSHSH

He tells himself he's going to stay away. Just one night, that was going to be it. But then in runs into John again at another bar and they fuck and it makes him feel so much better.

It wasn't supposed to become a regular thing, but somehow it did. He tells John hs name and they swap life stories, except Sebastian has to fake his. Every two nights or so he go over to Baker Street and they'd shag or talk or just sit there beside each other. He wasn't supposed to fall in love. 

It isnt until a year later tht John actually asks, "Who was he?"

Sebastian pauses, his cup of tea halfway to his mouth, "Who was who?"

"Him, the guy you lost."

Sebastian deflects the question, "You would've hated him."

But John pushes. John always pushes, "What was his name?"

"Jim." He thought that would be safe.

John jumped up from the chair, as if he suddenly realised he had sat on a tack. "What?!"

Seb set his cup down on the side table, slowly, like he was in the room with a snake. "John -"

John looked poised to run, or attack. "You acted like you knew me. How?" He asked, tone clipped.

"John, I wouldn't hurt you. Not now, not while - I lost the love of my life too."

But John wasn't listening, "Get out! Get out now!" And Sebastian goes.

SHSHSHSHSH

Seb was drunk when the news came on in his apartment and there was Sherlock standing there with his eyes shining and a uncomfortable smile on his face, decked out in his deerstalker hat and £500 coat. He was always drunk these days.  
Of course John stood beside Sherlock, grinning from ear to ear. So pleased that his lover had returned home safe and sound. Sebastian hadn't seen him since the day the army doctor had kicked him out. It still hurt.

But there were more important things to worry about. Namely, making sure Jim hadn't died in vain. He sat before the telly loading his sniper rifle and planning. Each part he well-oiled, making sure this would be a shot he didn't miss. Not that he ever missed. 

He'd just packed up his gear and was ready to leave when his apartment door was kicked in by four men in black. He put up a fight, of course. But they had him tightly restrained by the time Mycroft Holmes sauntered in looking especially pleased with himself.  
The older Holmes nodded at the abandoned bag of guns on the floor, "Looking to kil my baby brother, were you?"  
Sebastian growled in response, seeing red in his rage.  
Mycroft shook his head disapprovingly and gestured to his men, "Pack him up boys. Mr. Moran here is going to be our guest for a very long while."


End file.
